Chapter Two
Tristan and Marcus thanked the carriage driver as he helped them set Tristan’s trunk on the immaculately clean doorstep of his parents’ upscale townhouse. The bottom story was constructed of whitewashed brick, and the top two floors were bright red brick. Blue wood shutters set off all the windows, and a gleaming brass knocker adorned the blue front door. On either side of the house were narrow cobblestoned drives that led to mews behind the row of upscale townhouses, in which Tristan’s home sat fashionably in the middle. Across the wide cobblestone street before the row of houses was a large park, encircled by wrought iron bars. The house was in one of the more upscale neighborhoods in London, which, while in a fine neighborhood, was no longer considered the height of fashion. Tristan had loved the house as a child, as his room had overlooked the park, and if he needed to escape his family, he could just run across the street to the oasis of green.
“Tis a fine-looking house, how many bed chambers are there?” Marcus asked as Tristan reached for the knocker.
“There are eleven bed chambers in the west wing, which is the family wing, and ten in the east wing, as well as a second family parlor. Then there are rooms on the third floor and an atrium in the back. My room is that one,” Tristan stepped back to point to two windows on the second floor, about twenty feet from where they stood.
“So no need to share a chamber or a bed then? Not that I don’t mind sharing a tent with you, Captain, but you snore sometimes.” Marcus gave him a grin, to which Tristan only shook his head in response.
“No, you will have your own chambers. And you snore too.” Tristan replied as he knocked several times with the fancy knocker. After several minutes, the door was opened by a thin, weasel-faced man with black hair, who gave them both a scathing look.
“Yes, what do you want?” The man asked with a sneer.
“Where is Buttons?” Tristan asked in surprise. He did recognize the man who was presently sneering at him and Marcus.
“The servant’s door is in the back.” The man moved to slam the door in Tristan’s face, and he quickly placed his left foot in the way as he shoved the door open wide, knocking the man backward.
“I am not a servant, I am Tristan Sizemore, Earl of Bamford, and this is my home, now, where is Buttons?” Tristan snarled as Marcus followed him through the door, dragging the trunk in after him.
“That is impossible, he is not to return for some time, now leave before I call for the footmen.” The man blithered.
“What is going on here, Mr. Keene? I told you not to open the door,” A deep voice sounded from the wide staircase ahead of them, and Tristan looked up to see Buttons the butler on the staircase.
“This man claims to be the Earl,” The weasel-faced man replied.
“Good lord, welcome home, my lord, it has been too long.” Buttons said, coming down the last of the steps to greet Tristan warmly.
Tristan gave the old butler a warm smile. The Butler’s actual name was Hugh Butler, but as boys, Tristan and his brothers thought it was too amusing to call the butler, Mr. Butler so they simply called him “Buttons” after the two rows of shiny silver buttons on his black jacket. The name had stuck, and for the past twenty-plus years, he’d been called buttons. Buttons had also been more of a father than Tristan’s father had been, giving Tristan advice and putting him to bed as a small child, as his parents could never be bothered.
“Buttons, it is good to see you. You look as fit as ever.” Tristan stepped forward as the butler stepped off the steps to give him a warm smile.
“Thank you, my lord, you have grown into quite a man since I saw you last. Are you home to stay?” Buttons asked.
“Yes, I am, it would seem that I am the Earl now and must take up the mantel of the title. This is my good friend and companion, Mr. Marcus Berkley, who will be staying with us. If not for him, I would likely not be here now.” Tristan turned to motion Marcus forward.
“Marcus, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Butler, the butler. As a child, my brothers and I thought it was too humorous that the butler’s name was Mr. Butler, so we called him Buttons after his shiny buttons. The name stuck, and he became Buttons. Buttons was far more than a butler; he was like a father to me.” Tristan said, and Butler appeared to flush, and his eyes misted.
“It is a pleasure, Mr. Butler, to make your acquaintance; the Captain has mentioned you often.” Marcus held his hand out to the butler, who, after a moment, took it to give it a shake.
“And you, sir, welcome to Hastings House. I hope you will be happy here. If you need anything, you have but to ask.” Buttons said, releasing Marcus’ hand and giving him a warm smile.
“Thank you; I would dearly love a hot bath later,” Marcus asked, surprising Tristan at his request.
“Aye, that does sound good. We shall put Marcus in the family wing; he can have my sister Rebecca’s old chamber,” Tristan asked, and Buttons nodded.
“My sister’s chamber is next to mine, so that we can talk when we wish. Now, where are my mother and sister?” Tristan asked as two footmen came from the back of the house to quietly take Travis’ trunk away.
“They are in your mother’s private parlor, finishing their breakfast.” Buttons replied, “I shall have a bath sent up for both you and Mr. Berkley and ask cook to prepare you breakfast.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Tristan looked about to see that the weasel-faced man had vanished. “Buttons, who was the oily man that greeted us?”
“He is Mr. Ebenezer Keene; he was valet to your late brothers as well as your father. Despite the fact he no longer has a position; your mother refuses to dismiss him. He has been lording it over the other servants in the house for some time and insinuated himself into your mother’s presence.” Butler said softly, looking about the hall to be sure they were alone.
Tristan frowned. That did not sound good. “Thank you, Buttons, I shall keep an eye on him. I will show Marcus his chamber and then go speak to my mother and sister.”
“Of course sir, I will order both your baths and breakfast, and welcome home again, sir. It is truly good to have you back.” Buttons gave Tristan a quick pat on the back and then turned to move towards the back of the house.
“Come, I’ll show you your room,” Tristan jerked his head towards the staircase as Marcus hefted his bag to sling it over his shoulder. Tristan slowly mounted the red carpeted steps, Marcus only a few steps behind him. The familiar scents of lemon oil and beeswax floated up to him. Tristan had never thought to see his home again, when he had chosen the army over marrying as his father had demanded, he had been told he was no longer welcome. That he was dead to his father and brothers. He had received only a few letters from his mother and sisters over the years, usually to tell him of marriages and births of his nieces and nephews, and lastly of his sister leaving her abusive husband.
The staircase ended on a wide landing, with a round table holding a lamp in the middle of the three-way intersection. Ahead led to the servant’s staircase, a sunny morning room, a small upstairs library, two small guest chambers and a large two-story atrium. On his right were the other guest rooms and the family parlor, while on his left lay the family rooms.
“Ahead is a nice atrium that overlooks the small back garden and the mews where the carriages are stored. I use to love reading there in the winter, to the right are the guest rooms, and this way are the family rooms. At the end of the hall is a community bath chamber and water cabinet, mother insisted that the house have modern plumbing throughout.” Tristan began down the corridor lit by sunbeams coming in through the two-story tall window above the front door.
Tristan stopped before his sister’s old room and opened the door for Marcus; luckily, his sister had loved green, so her chamber was done in shades of light green instead of pink, as his mother preferred. In the center of the room was a large four-poster bed, with a massive wooden trunk at the foot of the bed, and two high- backed chairs before the fireplace on the left side of the room.
“This is your room. Through that door in the back wall is your bathing chamber and privy. Both with running water and that door connects to my room.” Tristan pointed to a dark wooden door in the wall on the right of the chamber.
“Tis a fine room, when you offered me your sister’s room, I was afraid it would be well feminine, but this is fine,” Marcus said, stepping into the chamber and dropping his bag on the floor.
“My sister liked green; I wouldn’t force pink or lace on you. Rest for a bit I’m going to go find my mother.” Tristan said, as he stepped back out the door. Tristan wasn’t looking forward to seeing his mother.
“Good luck; I remember what you said about your mother.” Marcus called as Tristan shut the door behind him.
Tristan walked down the dim corridor towards his mother’s chamber at the end of the hall, and felt his heart speed up; he was more nervous than heading into battle. He had always had a rather fractious relationship with his mother. His mother had never seemed to care for him; he was not the heir or the spare and therefore not important. He was just that extra son that his mother had had; his mother would spare him fifteen minutes once a day and never hugged him. She would simply look him up and down, ask what he had done that day, and then leave his chamber. Tristan had both longed for and feared her daily visit. His mother had never had a kind word for him either, no matter what he did or how hard he tried he was never good enough.
Today had to be different; he was a man now and the head of the family. He had to curtail his mother’s and sister’s spending and let them know that they could no longer spend as they had. They would even have to cut back the household budget for some time; if he was able to convince Miss Layden to marry him, it would still take months to get them out of debt. Tristan stopped at his mother’s door at the end of the hall and knocked briskly before opening the door and stepping inside without waiting for permission.
Tristan’s mother and his sister Penelope were seated at the large round table before the window that looked down on the street. His sister looked up with a warm smile when she saw Tristan, while his mother paused in buttering a piece of toast to give him a dismissive look.
“Mother, Penelope, it is good to see you both; you look well,” Tristan said as he stepped further into the room.
“Well, you finally decided to show up, I see,” His mother said, sniffing at him like she smelled something bad. “We have been waiting for you to make an appearance.”
“I had to wait for permission to be released from duty, and it took me some time to return to England,” Tristan replied, trying to maintain his temper.
“I’m happy to have you back, little brother,” Penelope rose and crossed the room to give Tristan a quick hug before stepping back to look him over. “You have grown taller and bigger; I nearly didn’t recognize you.”
“And you look the same, but it has been nearly thirteen years since we last saw each other,” Tristan replied with a smile, and saw Penelope smile in return. In truth, she looked tired, but spending any amount of time with their mother would exhaust anyone. Penelope had been the only one of his siblings to ever show any regard for him, to ever write to him when he’d been sent away to boarding school.
“You will have to smarten yourself up if you wish to fill your father and brother’s shoes.” His mother stated imperiously, as she looked him up and down again.
“My Father and my brothers were reprobates and drunkards, and I have no wish to be anything like them, and according to uncle Howard’s solicitor, who I just spoke with, they ran up so much debt we are in danger of losing our homes,” Tristan stated hotly.
Tristan’s mother choked on her toast and gave him a withering look as she patted her mouth clean, “How dare you say that?”
“Because it is the truth, we are in Queer Street, we are on one’s uppers, mother thanks to their drinking, gambling, and wild ways,” Tristan replied, seeing his mother’s eyes widen.
“How dare you speak to me like that? You are being vulgar?” His mother snapped, thumping down her cup.
Tristan sighed, shook his head, and grabbed the chair against the side wall, carried it over to the table, and set it down. He eased into the seat, earning a glare from his mother.
“How dare you sit down without permission? Get up at once.” His mother sputtered, turning a mottled red.
No, I have been traveling for over a week, just got off a ship, and went directly to the solicitor; I am also now the head of this family and in charge of our finances. I am also almost thirty and until two weeks ago was a Captain in his majesty’s services, about to be promoted to Major, I will not be spoken to as if I were a child.” Tristan stated, watching his mother turn bright red and her eyes grow huge.
“I will not be spoken to like this,” His mother protested.
“You will have to get used to it. We’re weeks, perhaps days away from losing this house and being cast out on the streets. Father and brothers ran up huge debts and did nothing to try to earn any funds to pay them off. If it were not for Uncle Howard, you would already be homeless. Luckily for us, he paid off the majority of the debts they left before he died.” Tristan stated.
“You are wrong,” His mother protested vehemently shaking her head.
“I wish I were, as I said, I got off my ship and went directly to Uncle Howard’s solicitor, he explained everything to me and gave me a run-down of the debts amassed,” Tristan replied.
“Well, surely Howard left us his estates; they can pay off any remaining debts.” His mother said, reaching for her cup of tea again.
“Uncle used all his savings to pay off the debts left by father and my brothers, and there is a catch for me to claim his estates. There will have to be drastic changes to your spending starting today.” Tristan gave his mother a long look.
“Changes, what do you mean by changes?” Penelope asked, leaning forward.
“To begin with, no more spending of any kind, and I mean no spending on anything we can’t afford it. We shall also have to make drastic cuts to the household expenses; this includes no more wine or fine cuts of meat.” Tristan replied.
“What, you are jesting, the little season shall be starting in a few weeks, I shall need new gowns, shoes, and gloves as will Penelope.” His mother stated, shaking her head.
“I wish I were.” Tristan sighed, wishing he could make his mother see reason.
“Perhaps we could shut down the townhouse and move to Avondale or Rawlings,” Penelope suggested.
“I thought that too, but the debt collectors have begun proceedings to take Avondale, and father apparently sold off almost all the furniture at Rawlings, and he let go almost all the servants. The solicitor said it is a dirty shell of its former self, and that father sold off so much land that Rawling’s can’t support itself.” Tristan shook his head. “I will start going over the household accounts this afternoon, but sacrifices shall have to be made.”
“What about the house in Bath?” Penelope suggested.
“It is being leased, and to break the lease would cost us dearly. There is only one chance to save the house; apparently, Uncle owed a great debt to a friend, a debt he wanted to pay off, but only his friend’s daughter is still alive. The young lady, a Miss Annabella Layden, helped to take care of our nephews when they were ill and Uncle in his last years. If I can convince Miss Layden to wed me, then money set aside in a trust shall be unlocked, and I will inherit shares in several mines.” Tristan paused to be sure his mother and sister were listening. “The money from that will settle the debts eventually, but we shall have to watch our spending for some time.”
“You are to wed this girl, who is she, Howard’s mistress?” His mother demanded with a sneer.
His mother’s comment irritated Tristan; his mother had let her father and brothers run wild and done nothing. She had gone through money like it was water, and now she was insulting an innocent young woman who apparently was an angel.
“Miss Layden was not his mistress; she was his friend, and she helped run Avondale. Miss Layden is also an herbalist, and according to the solicitor, she is a paragon of virtue and a good woman.” Tristan stated. “If she is willing to marry me, we will be saved.”
“What woman would refuse to marry an Earl, especially some country nothing?” His mother replied, looking at Tristan as if he were mad.
“I will forget I heard you say that, if this young lady honors me with her hand, you will treat her with respect when I bring her home. Now I am going to eat and bathe, then go over the accounts.” Tristan said, getting to his feet.
“About no spending, you mean only for a week or so? I need new gowns.” His mother protested.
“I mean for at least six months, maybe a year. We are hanging on by a thread, mother. Is a new gown worth losing our home?” Tristan asked as he rose, seeing his mother turn bright red. “After I finish going over the household accounts, I will know more. I’m hoping not to have to lay off any staff if possible, but sacrifices will have to be made.”
“Surely things are not that bad?” Penelope protested, giving him a worried look.
“They are, now I’m off to bathe and eat. I’ll know more later.” Tristan rose, feeling his mother’s disapproving eyes follow him. Tristan ignored his mother’s look and crossed to the door to let himself out. He made his way down the corridor to his chamber and stepped inside, relieved to see food had been set out on the table before the window, and he could see a steaming bath through the open door to his bathing chamber. Tristan walked to the bathing chamber to quickly wash his hands and face before returning to eat. He was home, but it didn’t feel like it, he was in his old bed room in his parents’ house, which was now his, but it was not a home; it had never been a home. The only time he felt wanted or at peace was at Avondale with his Uncle. He would find a way to save Avondale, no matter what it took; even if he had to sell the townhouse and every piece of furniture, he would save Avondale or die trying.